A short ride across the grassy plain brought us to the foot of the densely wooded hills. The Helvetii, whose agriculture was primitive, never bothered to clear this hill country to till the slopes. They dwelled in the valleys and plains, where the land was hospitable and yielded easily to their wooden plow-shares. The great labor required to clear and plant vineyards on steep slopes was repellant to the Gauls, who thought such work fit only for slaves. True, most Gallic peasants were little more than slaves themselves, but they had no liking for hard toil either.
A small detachment of Carbo’s skirmishers awaited us at the base of the first hill. “Any sign of the enemy?” Carbo asked them.
“Not a hair of them,” a decurion said.
“We continue on foot from here,” Carbo said, dismounting. “You skirmishers get some torches from the horsemen. Lovernius, you come with us. The rest wait here. Be ready to run for it, but don’t run before we get back.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked nervously. I didn’t like the idea of being separated from my horse. When I have to flee, I prefer not to waste time at it. Armored and in hobnailed boots, I would have no chance of outfooting a horde of near-naked Gauls. It wouldn’t even take a horde of them. Two or three would do the job. Mabe even one. I’d had an exhausting night.
“The woods are too thick for horsemen,” Carbo said phlegmatically. “Come on.”
We went up onto the slopes with the Scouts in the lead. I wondered what the watching Helvetians were making of all this activity. Our little torchlit cavalry procession must have been visible for miles, and the torchbearing skirmishers probably presented a twinkling display as we ascended.
Our climb was all but silent, the only sounds the faint rustle of mail links against sword sheaths and the hiss and crackle of the torches. The massive, ancient trees pressed close in upon us, the undersides of their limbs luridly illuminated by the torches. Night-roaming animals scurried away from us as we climbed. It was all monstrously oppressive and frightening.
We Romans do not like wild places. We like open, cultivated land that has been tamed by the hand of man. Deserts repel us; mountains are just obstacles; and we dislike forests with their wild animals and their swarms of spiteful spirits. Only pastoral poets pretend to like nature, and their sylvan dales occupied by nymphs and handsome shepherd lads are as unreal as a wall painting. The real thing is vicious, messy, and unforgiving.
Soon I detected a faint glow ahead of us. “Almost there now,” Carbo said. Iron man though he was, he was breathing heavily. This was his second such climb of the night.
Abruptly, we were at the edge of a clearing. The Scouts halted, then the skirmishers, and finally Carbo, Lovernius, and me. The trees ended at a roughly circular patch of mossy ground perhaps thirty paces in diameter. Big, rough rocks protruded from the ground, strangely shaped, although they were apparently nature’s work, showing no marks of hammer or chisel. Tremendous oaks marked the periphery, their branches interlacing overhead to form a ceiling.
These details were made faintly visible by the low-burning remains of what must earlier have been a huge bonfire. It was nothing but embers now, crackling and sending up smoke to the heavens. It was an uncanny place, and I had the uneasy but certain feeling that I was looking at what the Greeks call a temenos: a sacred place consecrated to the gods.
Carbo stepped into the clearing and walked toward the fire. I took a deep breath and followed. Lovernius and the others hung back until Carbo turned and beckoned impatiently.
“Come on, bring those torches. What was done here is done.”
I went to the remains of the fire, dreading what I might see there. To my relief it seemed to be ordinary wood, not wicker. I detected none of the charred bones I half expected to see. I scanned all around the clearing but could see nothing but the ominously surrounding trees.
“I don’t see anything,” I said, relieved but disappointed.
“That’s because you’re looking in the wrong direction,” Carbo said. I looked to see his head tilted back, gazing straight up.
Beneath my helmet, my scalp prickled and icy fingers danced up and down my spine. In the gloom above, my eyes were at first confused by the interlacing of the branches and the uncertain light of the torches. Then I saw three shapes dangling from three stout limbs, slowly turning as if there was a breeze up there that I could not feel down below. They were dressed in long, white robes and upon the breast of each was a richly worked golden pectoral. Their faces were distorted, but I recognized them, two old, one young.
“The Druids!” I cried, my voice far louder than I had intended.
Lovernius grasped an amulet that hung around his neck and began yammering some sort of prayer or spell, a look of superstitious terror on his face. The skirmishers were equally upset. I grasped his arm.
“Lovernius,” I said sternly, “you are a civilized man with a Roman education, not a superstitious savage. Possess yourself!” Gradually he calmed.
“What can this mean?” I demanded. “Who sacrifices Druids? I thought they did the sacrificing!” For I had no doubt that this was a ritual killing. Ordinary executions do not take place at such remote sites or under such bizarre circumstances; the grove, the stones, the fire-all were redolent of barbaric religious practice.
“I don’t know!” Lovernius said, his voice shaky. “I have never seen anything like this, nor heard of any such. Sometimes-sometimes a Druid is sacrificed when the people face a terrible calamity; famine, plague perhaps. But then the Druid is chosen by lot and there is a great festival. Only one dies, and the body is sunk into a sacred marsh.”
“Any ideas, Decius?” Carbo asked.
“Absolutely none. I won’t admit it to Labienus, but I’m as devoid of answers as a Bruttian is of table manners. You might as well ask an Egyptian to exhibit bravery in battle.”
“No, you’d better not tell Labienus that,” he concurred. “Just smile your superior smile and pretend you know more than you’re letting on.” Carbo knew me all too well.
“I’ll figure it out sooner or later,” I assured him. “It’s just that we’re dealing with barbarians here.”
“That’s why I brought you to see this.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem quite right to just leave them hanging there.” It wasn’t that I really thought their spirits would harm us if they weren’t properly buried, but I was in no mood to take any chances.
“No, we get away from this place. It will be light soon. If the Helvetii didn’t do this, they’ll be along to investigate soon. This hill has looked like the first evening of Saturnalia all night. The Druids were Gauls, let the Gauls take care of them.”
This was eminently sensible advice and we followed it forthwith. Our little party did not exactly run back down the hill but we did move out smartly. We found our horses where we had left them and remounted. We rode back at an easy pace, because Carbo refused to leave his skirmishers behind. This was an estimable display of loyalty, but not one close to my own heart.
“Was there anybody else there when you found the place?” I asked him as we rode. I kept looking over my shoulder for an advancing army.
“Not a soul. Whoever did it was not long gone, though. The fire was still burning high, so I didn’t need any torches to see them hanging there.”
“I wish I could go back to investigate after daylight,” I said. “But I’m only going to do it if Labienus agrees to give me the whole legion for security first. With the hill surrounded I might be able to keep my mind on my work.”